Meant To Love
by frau-haile
Summary: The Kirklands and the Bonnefoys are feuding families in Verona. Dating back eight generations, said families have been doing nothing but bite, kick, hit, and take revenge. But what if, just what if, a Kirkland and a Bonnefoy, fell in love? 17th Century Europe, FrUK France/England, yaoi, slash.
1. Prolouge

**A/N: *jumps from under the desk* HELLO! So this is my first story and also my first try to write a fanfic (I accentuate: TRY!). I'm pretty nervous here because I'm a beginner (I'm 13) and I don't know if I should continue with writing this or not, but yeah, the urge to write something after reading a LOT of fanfics had been whoop-dee-dooing around my head for a while, and this is the product of a writing rush. I wanted to write some happy tragedy, then I thought about Romeo and Juliet play by Shakespeare, and that was the first story that popped in my head along with the pairing FrUK. I know, I see those flames coming, but I'm writing this story whatever happens because of said writing rush. So here you go, my first ever try on a fanfic! *opens curtains***

**THIS WORK EXISTS BECAUSE OF BOREDOM.**

**Warnings (This chapter only): Language, and I'll be adding more as the story progresses.**  
**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia, nor do I own Romeo and Juliet. I am just an amateur author rewriting beautiful works of entertainment. For entertainment. Only.**

Prologue

If you would ask the people in Verona what's the latest news of the week, they would answer it like it was just the weather; either the Kirklands got the point, or the Bonnefoys had the catch. Or if one of the Kirkland's knights accidentally wounded a Bonnefoy's henchman. Or a Bonnefoy's henchman accidentally wounded a Kirkland's knight. Or killed, whatever. That was the episode this week. Verona would either be rejoicing or not rejoicing, be passive or aggressive, or they could just be plain fed up. Or maybe watching it like hawks. Or just look at it like, "Oh look, another Kikland win. And a Bonnefoy loss. I hope those two just go on actual combat so I could have news, because that's what news was. It was _new_. And catchy. Wait, this is catchy." In short, it wasn't really news. It was more like crap talk, or crap acting. Crappy, yet catchy. It was a teleserye, or a novel filled with all the angst and drama and tension and angst again an angst writer can't even handle. And idiocy as a side genre. In short, it was just a feud. A really long feud, to be exact. Dating back to eight generations, the families of Kirkland and Bonnefoy have been shitting out teleserye by teleserye, novel by novel, of idiotic angst. But no matter, Verona says. No matter how shitty the shat out episodes are, they want it. Verona, or rather, the people, are waiting for the next installment of the so-called "feud". The families are making them. And if you're asking if the knight versus henchman is the finale, you got it _all_ wrong, baby. This story is _way_ too early to end. Just look at it, you've got two feauding families. Said families have sons. Yep, sons. A Frenchman and an Englishman. And they are feuding. FEUDING. Why the fuck would you end a story there, seriously. Imagine all the and drama and angst and ya- sorry! *winks at you anyway*

_For never was a story of more woe _  
_Than this of Juliet and her Romeo._  
_- Shakespeare_

**A/N: So, what do you think? This is crappy, I know, but I'll be getting more "creative" with my swears, or apparently, England's swears - "What the bloody hell of fucked up fuckery did you say?!" - I was just plucking your eyebrows! *guffaws***

**Pssshhh. This will be like, 10 chapters with 4-7k words per chap, updates will be thrice a week this summer (it's summer here in the Philippines) and twice a week (or once when I'm busy) during school at either Wednesday, Friday or Saturday. Yep. That's it, and please review and tell me if you liked it!**

**-Frau Haile :)**

***whispers* Hey, you still there? Awesome! I just wanted to tell ya I'm on Tumblr! I'm frau-*haile. Just remove the asterisk! BYE! *flies away on a unicorn***


	2. How To Coerce A Sleepy Bonnefoy

**Chapter 1: How To Coerce A Sleepy Bonnefoy**

**A/N: So here's chapter one! Before I start with an awesome chaptah I'll clarify some misconceptions, this story IS a Romeo and Juliet parody. Meaning, everything in this story is based off COMPLETELY of Shakespeare's work. Including the time and characters. But I'm not telling about the ending! It's either I kill them savagely or they live happily ever unicorn! Mwahahahaha! I'm also not telling details about the equivalent of the Hetalia charcters with the Romeo and Juliet ones...so keep your eyes opened with toothpicks! I know the setting is in like, the 16 hundredths, but I have to apologize for the language because it'll be modern. I know, I know, there wasn't any "fuck" or "shit" or "sonuvabeech" during this time, but you just gotta suck it if you plan to finish this story with me, so I apologize. If you don't wanna read that stuff here, you are free to leave with cookies, unicorns and chocolate ice cream! Also, forgive me if you see some grammar mistakes because I'm not an avid English speaker (I'm Filipino). I'll stop procrastinating, here's your story! *procrastinates in background anyway***

**Warnings: Language  
DISCLAIMER: Hetalia and Romeo and Juliet isn't mine. If it was Hetalia is 10000000% yaoi and Romeo and Juliet didn't die. So yeah. Have your chapter! :D**

Francis could tell he was annoyed. Oh yeah. Annoyed. Who wouldn't be, when a certain _awesome_ albino was currently keeping him up, coercing him to join some "ball" in celebration of some shit going on in the other family. He could feel his mind get whoopy and his eyes droop every few seconds, only to shoot open again at either a nudge on his ribcage or a tug on his beautiful hair (accompanied by, "Francis are you listening to the great and awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt?!"). And it's also more annoying when said albino was accompanied by an overly cheerful, overly happy, overly _dayum I wanna smack that smile off_ _his face right now_ boy named Antonio. Take note, "right now". Francis didn't really want to smack the smile off his face. Well he was pissed now so the idea was pretty appealing. But still, who wanted to smack Antonio? He was so bubbly and smiley and _oh god those muscles and that **ass**_- "Hey Francey pants, you listening to the awesome miracle that is me, the awesome?!" Gilbert hollered, effectively snapping Francis out of his thoughts that could effectively pitch a tent somewhere, also his eyes from closing completely. Francis sent him a sleepy glare that looked more like a look of idiocy than of rage. The albino just smirked wider at him (if it was even possible).

"For the last time,_ mon cher_, I am not attending that ball of the Kirklands." Francis said, yawning. He could be sleeping now. Or dreaming. About escargot. And roses. And beautiful French wine with a beautiful Frenchwoman serving it for him in a beautiful maid dr- "FRENCH FRIES!" A certain blonde head jerked up faster than Energizer Bunny on crack let loose.

Antonio gave a light giggle.

_Yeah, laugh you little shit._

The Frenchman sleepily peeked at him. Antonio was smiling. Arrgh, now this was getting annoying. He thought it over. No matter the ladies (or men) he might be charming there, he wasn't going to go. Nope. Kirklands were were not to be trusted. With the tension that was floating in the air between them for eight generations? Nah. Bonnefoys knew better. Bonnefoys would rather sit in their bedroom chambers smelling roses. Yep. Rather than going to Kirland teritory and end up missing a limb, an ear and two fingers.

"But amigo," Antonio whined, "it would be lovely! All the beautiful ladies in charming ballgowns that you could, ah, what was that? Oh yeah, bring to the altar in a white dress then to a bed of roses nak-"

"**TOMATOES!**" Gilbert shouted, ears hued red. Whew! Just in time. Preserving the innocence of Toni was his unspoken job. Well, if it weren't for the Frenchman teaching him "stuff" like what you see in Kama Sutras. Yep. Descriptions added. Antonio raised a fine eyebrow.

"Well, Gilbert, although your presence is highly welcome in my chambers, I am assuming that that was all you had to say?" Francis said, voice worn. He was tired, he was sleepy, and he wondered why his friends always show up at times when he was low on a thing you call "stamina".

"If it is, then please leave, the two of you. I have to rest my eyes, lest I get those pesky bags. Shoo," he waved his hand in a "go away" manner, before lying back down on his bed to try and get some sleep. Seriously, never take art lessons, horse riding, gown design and piano at the same time. Especially if you're a charming Frenchman who lives to love and loves to live, because trust me, you're gonna look like an old hag in the first hour. He pulled up the covers, trying to shield himself from his two buddies. Irritation can only last so long.

"Nein, Frenchie. We're not leaving till you say _'oui'_!" A terrible accent. Gilbert shook the bed a little, so that Francis will remain awake. Francis huffed irritatedly, then took a peek from under the covers. A pair of red and green eyes looked back at him. Francis sighed, part tired, part pissed, Okay. He closed his eyes, then turned over, back to the covers. A muffled reply was heard.

"Vhat?" Gilbert asked, yanking down the bedsheets and pulling them away, as far as his arm can go. Francis shrieked (in a manly way) before finally sitting up. He glared at both of them in a_ "I'll kill you both with a brick"_ way before rubbing his eyes. Gilbert was still smirking. _Damn you._ And he was holding the covers too far from his reach. _Double damn you._ At this point, Francis could think of nothing else. Too sleepy, too tired, too_ pissed_, his mind couldn't think up coherent thoughts anymore. All he wanted to do was fucking sleep. Was that too hard to ask?_ Apparently it is,_ he thought.

Well, fuck the limb, the ear, and the two fingers.

"Yes, now will you let me sleep, ma cheries? And give me back my sheets."

"Say it in French!"

Francis rolled his eyes, then groaned out, _"Oui."_

Smiling triumphantly, Gilbert threw back the sheets to Francis' sleepy form. He grabbed Antonio by the wrist ("Gil, be gentle!") then waved goodbye, before shutting Francis' chamber door. _"Merci, merci, oh Dieu,"_ he murmured as he fell back to dreams of ballgowns and limbless dances.

**A/N: So here it is! *smiles retardedly* You've got Bad Touch Trio for a starter! I absolutely adore them, aren't they cute? We're meeting a certain English gentleman next chapter! Woohoo! And nope, he's a guy. So it's like Romeo and Julio. Suck it! :D**

**P.S. The next update will be on Wednesday, 5/1/13. I'm having major editing on the 2nd-4th chapters here, and sorry for not being able to update on Saturday last week! As I said, I was (and still) doing major editing on the 2nd-4th chapters. And today I got my glasses! It took a whole two months of nagging my mom before she actually bought me them.  
**

**See you in the next chapter! -Frau Haile :)**


	3. Depression

**A/N: Whew. Okay. I'm going to explain something. My Tumblr friend that read this said that the prologue and the first chapter were too "comedic" to be Romeo and Juliet. She said I put too much humor in everything. She said it wouldn't go together with the "depressing" genre of this story. She said if I could just tone down the jokes, then it would be better.**

**Really guys, is it really that "funny"?**

**Well, okay, I am going to tone down the jokes by 10%, is that okay? Because I just can't help but put the comedy in there when the chapter isn't really meant to be depressing. Like last chapter, it wasn't meant to make you cry. It was meant to be a kickstarter of this story. Well, not really THAT of a kickstarter (THIS chapter is the kickstarter). Stuff that happen in this chapter affects all the other chapters, including the last chapter. In here we have Francis' side and Arthur's side. Yep. We get to see what's been going on with Arthur, but not in his POV. And if you're thinking the last chapter was useless, you're wrong. I actually needed to write that.**

**P.S I extended the legnth of this story from 10 to some chapters more. Turns out there was that itty bitty detail in the 4th chapter that I didn't look out for. Also, this chapter is time lapse one month from last chapter. And it has Seychelles. Yep. Get ready.**

**Warnings: Language, slight homophobia on Arthur's part, very sharp French-targeted insults. If you happen to be French and is reading this note, either don't continue or if you are really curious, you may go. It isn't advised, by the way. But if you actually go, and if you are offended, don't say I didn't warn you! You were warned! This warning! Pshaw! Oh yeah, and angst. This chaptah contains lots of angst.**  
**Disclaimer: DAMN HELL I'M GONNA BE HUMOROUS HERE! I DON'T OWN HETALIA! AND ROMEO AND JULIET! NYAHAHAHAHA! I AM TOO HAPPY-GO-LUCKY TO OWN THEM! I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST THE FRENCH!  
**

* * *

"Francis? Francis, you in there?"

Gilbert repeatedly tapped the chamber doors of his friend, who was, apparently, too absorbed in his loud sobs to even pay attention to the albino outside his door. Antonio stood by, not knowing what to do as Gilbert's light pats turned to hurried punches.

"Frenchey! Open the door! You haven't come out since this early afternoon'!"

Usually, Francis was awake by sunrise, already riding his white stallion around the small ranch they had at the back of the palace. Or he could be tending the flowers in the huge garden Francis ordered that when he looked out from his balcony, he would see the rows and rows of rose bushes. When Antonio and Gilbert arrived, the Frenchman's hands were with soil and grime and his back sweaty from the early morning ride.

"Damnit, stop crying like a lovesick twelve-year-old!"

"I am not a twelve-year-old!"

Wow, he actually replied.

"I said 'like'!"

A choked out cry was heard instead.

Gilbert sighed heavily, then kicked the door. _Hard_. The sound echoed out through the big, empty hall that lead to Francis' room. They were not going anywhere. Any. _Fucking._ Where. Antonio glanced at him, a hint of worry on his face. Well, at least Gilbert didn't use his head. Or his five meters. Whatever came first to use in the albino's mind. Like it was even possible for someone to be five meters. If it was soft then it would squish to a mushy liquid, if it was hard, then it snapped in two. At least that was what Francis told him.

They both knew why Francis was currently sulking in his chambers. Scratch that, has been sulking in his chambers. He's been like this for like, a week? Two? The friends lost track a few days ago. Gilbert was becoming irritated; he wasn't like this the month back. A few days after he had coerced the Bonnefoy to attend the Kirkland ball, the three friends went out into town disguised as simple peasants to hide their status as highly respected aristocrats. The three wanted to roam like normal people every now and then; being rich and famous can affect walking around the market in fine robes (and knight uniform for Gilbert), which wasn't really a smart idea. In more ways than one.

* * *

_People were bustling in and out of shops in the chilly Veronian mid-afternoon. Some were yelling out what they were selling in the streets, and others were buying what was being yelled. There were children playing, their thin coats billowing every once and a while because of the wind. While some people were just taking a good stroll. Ah, a stroll. Just a good little walk outside before it starts raining. You know, to loosen up the muscles? A certain man was doing just that. Just an innocent walk in the chilly Veronian mid-afternoon. Nothing to disturb him, he took out his pipe, intent on just smoking out the small cold that formed in his lungs. He neared the mouth piece to his lips, then took an inhale. Ahh, beautiful. He held it in, letting the warmth melt away the chill. Not to suffocate himself, he slowly ex-_

_"**WUUUUURST! FRENCHEY FRENCHEY WINE! TOH! MAH! TOH!**"_

_Choke. Choke. Cough. Choke. Sorry for the OCD people out there._

_Before the pipe even dropped to the ground, three men dressed in a mixture of rags and goat hide zoomed past him faster than you scurrying away from a cockroach. The once pipe-smoking man held his chest as he coughed and wheezed and choked on his own breath, watching as the three idiots start running backwards while making taunting faces at the man. One started dancing salsa, the other doing pelvic thrusts while holding up the number "5" with his hand, and the last one was winking at him while smiling flirtingly._

_"Curse!" cough. "You!" cough. "Fools!" cough. The man continued to huff and wheeze as he groped blindly for his pipe, keeping his eyes trained on the three men, glaring as they went and ran around the corner._

_Gilbert slammed his back on the stone wall of whatever store or shop they were outside of, no sooner breaking down into fits of laughter. Antonio was on his knees on the dirty brick aisle, his hands on his mouth trying to stiffle the boughts of guffaws he was keeping in. Francis was standing just beside the two, laughing just as hard as his two friends. Now this was life! That pianio practice he's gonna have an hour later didn't even keep him down!_

_"Did you see his face?! Did you see, Toni?!" Gilbert wiped a tear that escaped his closed eyes at the laughing spree._

_"Si, si amigo! I can't even keep still thinking about it!" the Spaniard blurted out, too lost between his chuckles to even see that people were now looking at them as if they were escapes from an asylum. Gilbert looked at him briefly before he started laughing again._

_Francis watched as his two friends cackled all over and over, and couldn't help but break into a wide grin. The two were annoying, kind of loud mouthed, unable to read the atmosphere sometimes, and also that little bit of childish, but he always looked at the times when they would always be there for him, even if they were practically useless. He would always appreciate it when the two would lift him off a slump, or when they just outright trusted him. Francis couldn't really ask for more; these friends were the best he had in the whole sixteen years of his life. He remembered the first day he saw Gilbert, when he and Antonio, his cousin, were invited to the 5th birthday of the soon-to-be-prince Matthew. The albino was swaying around a stick, looking like he was fighting off someone. Francis coudn't really remember what transpired after that; what he could remember was Gilbert, Antonio and him making a ruckus in the kitchens of the ruling house, knocking spices off their cupboards, plucking knives out if their hooks (mostly Gilbert did that), and turning upside down some chairs, tables and cauldrons (which, of course, they got in trouble for). The expierence just bonded them together in a way that lasted as long as eleven years. Francis sighed happily. Ahh, those memories..._

_"Is he asleep?"_

_"No, Toni, his eyes are still open."_

_Wait, what?_

_"Huh? D-did I miss anything?" Francis blinked, his composure slightly becoming riggid. When had they stopped laughing? He hadn't heard them..._

_"Nothing, just a really beautiful rich-looking woman alight from a really beautiful rich-looking carriage some two feet at the back of you." Gilbert snickered, slightly motioning for Francis to look behind._

_When Francis turned, he wasn't expecting the epitome of beauty to be looking right back at him._

_There, in an elegant, cream colored ballgown, was a brown-haired, cocoa-eyed woman. Her thin, dark red lips were slightly parted, almost in a questioning, "who are you?". Her hair was adorned with big, red bows, matching the off-white of her gown. She held a just as white fan in her red-gloved hands, the beautifully tanned skin just peeking out from under the laces. She wore no rings on her fingers, no pierces on her ears, no jewels on her neck and wrists...yet she looked so exhilarating._

_Francis didn't catch himself staring at her open-mouthed until the woman turned and started to enter a tailoring shop._

_The Frenchman was utterly, completely stunned. He could feel the butterflies in his stomach flutter around pleasingly, his shoulders getting slumped as his mind tried to register what his eyes have just seen. Helen of Troy, Pandora, Freiya, Rebecha, Delilah. He could never explain what beauty he had just laid eyes on. It wasn't that kind of whorish attractiveness you wanted to bang in an alleyway and leave, NSA, no. It was the kind that held you in your place, made your mind run with scenarios of a happy family; the kind of beauty that keeps your head stuck on her, makes you can't stop thinking about her. Attraction that makes you want to sing for her, bring her roses every second of the day, do everything for her. It was the kind that Francis was looking for. And now that he had that woman so close, so very near, he didn't want that oppurtunity go flying out the window. Without hesitation, he shouted,_

_"Mademoiselle!" _

_The woman stopped dead in her tracks._

_She stood, stiff, for a few seconds. Francis saw some movement within the carriage that was just beside her, but her held up hand halted further action._

_It was then that Francis took a good look at the carriage._

**_Oh shit._**

_"How dare you call my attention, dirty scum?"_

_The woman turned, her fan snapping shut within her slender, gloved fingers. The click of cloth and gold-pattened wood made Francis' head whip back to the lady._

_If it wasn't for the glare on her face that couldv'e freezed hell over, sent demons and ghost scurrying back to the underworld, and the Devil himself take two steps back in fear, she held the allure and beauty Francis wouldv'e knelt down on one knee for._

_Francis' lovestruck composition withered to nothing but pure fear and realization._

_"You filthy, rag-dressed Bonnefoy."_

_The words were sharp, clear, and held no room for retort._

_"You and your lousy French family are a poor excuse for human, didn't you know? Oh yes, you, all of you Bonnefoys, are either too stupid or too dense to know such information! You hold your heads up too high, even if said heads reach just the knees of my family! Ah, my family. We are the** real** aristocrats, we aren't deplorable little cheese-eating rats you call yourselves! And French! Such utter cheap human! Wait, you aren't even human, you're **shit**. **Shit** I tell you! You don't deserve the air you breathe, the food you eat, even the bodies you have, because you're** shit**! God, take pity on you! You don't even deserve such pity! You and your white flag waving, sordid Bonnefoy lineage!"_

_Francis felt as if a spear has been thrusted into him at every insult, only to be pulled out and slam back into his bleeding, broken heart. The lady continued to rant, but Francis went deaf to each of her words. Dieu, help him. He couldn't take it. The woman he absolutely fell in love with, whom he was ready to be six feet under for in a matter of seconds, was currently stomping at his deflating love for said woman. He uncosciously wiped away a tear before it rolled down his cheek, but found that several tears have been dripping down his chin. He hung his head, far too ashamed of himself to be looking at the lady. His eyes continued to bathe in tears as he felt them roll down his face, then eventually form dark spots on the brick aisle. Oh, it was too much, too painful..._

_"...now that's the reason why us Kirklands are far more above you! Filthy, wretched cruddy Bonnefoy! Be thankful you were even graced by my presence! You weren't ever, and will never, be worth my time! **Proletariat**!"_

_She huffed indigantly, before turning her nose up in a similar manner to disgust. Fluttering open her fan, she turned back to her carriage, uttering something between the lines of "scum", "shoo them away", and "tell my cousin I'll be there in an hour"._

_But Francis didn't need to be told. He was already two blocks away from the Kirkland, his two friends following him not far behind, mouths shut as they walked quietly back to their stallions._

**_(A/N: JESUS CHRIST THAT WAS SOOO DEPRESSING TO WRITE AUGH)_**

* * *

"Francis, amigo, please come out and see us. Just a peek will do."

Antonio pleaded, shaking the handle of the door a little. Damn, it was locked. Fuck.

Gilbert had long given up. He gave a short rant that's synopsis was, _"If he doesn't get out of there sooner I'll literally kick his white horse's ass. I don't care if I die doing it, just want him to know that he's pissing me off. Like big time."_ The Spaniard, however, knows he's just in the aviary watching his favorite yellow bird flit across his cage, which he named "Gilbird". Augh.

Antonio knocked again, this time louder. He didn't want his friends like this. Especially Francis. He wasn't the type to sulk for weeks alone in his room. He was the type to look at his problems and go, "I ain't even mad!". But yeah, he saw what happened. From the look in Francis' eyes to the turned up nose of the Kirkland. Of course he was sorry, of course he knew the wound was big, but this was taking too long! Francis could've been with them doing stupid things in the backyard a week earlier! Now, he was just in his room, probably growing mushrooms in his sheets because of the windows shut, the cool, damp temperature and the Frenchman's tears mixing in.

"Amigo, _por favor_, help yourself! You aren't going to get anywhere with your sulking! Come out of there and see what Gilbert and I could do!"

Silence falls on the other side.

Antonio sighed. "Francisco, look at this. You're slumping in your room crying your eyes out for a woman that took your heart for a few seconds, only to crush it right back with her hurtful insults and words. Is she really that worth it, Francis? Is a lady that just told you you're 'shite' and your whole lineage 'sordid' worth your depression? Francis, you're better than that! Don't break down because someone said you were nothing! Amigo, think about it! You're stronger than her words, you're braver than her gall to insult in public! Please, Francis, don't do this to yourself! A few words don't change who you really are!"

The Spaniard banged his head on the huge, oak door. Francis was being stubborn! Why can't he just put it all behind him? Was it really that bad? Nothing was ever that bad for Francis! He was such a happy person! Albeit it was tinted with perversion.

Francis was being difficult.

"Cher, you're right."

What. What what what what _what_.

"I am wasting my time."

What the _actual_ what.

Antonio lifted his head up, feelings of relief and "Dio it took you that long" washing over him in hurricanes. Finally, my god.

The sound of feet pattering on ground was like an angels' orchestra playing in Antonio's ears. The door was pulled open, revealing a tired, obviously worn from crying Francis, yet the smile he wore on his face brightened everything up sevenfold. Antonio really couldn't believe this shit._ This_ shit!

"Oh, amigo. My nose fears for you."

Francis took a sniff himself and grimaced in disgust.

Well, at least the mushrooms smelled a lot like him in there.

* * *

Arthur crouched down on the wide corridor, back against the wall as he listened to his parents argue yet again. About that damn ball. Again. Arrgh. His unbelievably thick eyebrows scrunched up together as he winced, hearing his mother's words echo out throughout the hall.

_"Arthur needs exposure!"_

_"You could have given that to him while he was younger!"_

_"I did! With the younger prince! I thought it would be better for him!"_

_"Obviously you're wrong, because now our son is looking at the knights as if they're his bloody food!"_

_"Don't say a word against Arthur!"_

_"Women!"_

His parents thought he didn't hear anything. Thought. At truth, he would always hear them argue, about his "orientation", as his dictionary told him. At night, the last thing he would hear was his father yelling, "my son is a poofter, because of you!". In the mornings, his mother would always shout, "when Arthur comes down, I don't want you saying anything!". Well, yeah, his father didn't say anything. In his presence, anyway. He would always smile, make casual talk like everything's normal. But when his parents think he's out of earshot, all he hears are "homo", "gay", and some other words he found too offensive for his mind to think it an example.

His green eyes closed tightly as he heard the word.

_The_ word.

_"He's a **faggot**!"_

Arthur couldn't stop the tears from pricking at his eyes.

His fourteenth birthday was no longer than a few days away. His parents, or rather, his father, planned the ball. He announced it three months earlier, so that the women would be able to "stitch their gowns". The ball was supposed to be exclusively for females only, but after his mother threw a rant about "ladies in three feet wide gowns chasing around my son screaming, '_marry me, young lord! Marry me!_'", Lord Kirkland finally allowed men to join as well, which was announced a month ago. Arthur was ultimately relieved; he couldn't stand the idea of just women flirting with him.

His brother, Andrew, was aware of his orientation. Though he didn't really taunt him because of it, he didn't really approve of it. he was somewhere in the lines of, "I don't give a bloody _damn_, but _fuck yes_ I care!". Every time he would see Arthur gazing dreamily at one of their knights, he would discreetly say there were scones in the kitchen. Arthur was thankful for his brother though; he didn't need more hurt and fake acceptance in this cage his parents called a palace.

He walked back to his room, feeling like he didn't need to hear more. He hated it in here. He was never allowed to go out of the castle gates. He didn't have any friends, which he solved by reading the tales of "mythical" creatures. Though Arthur believed they were real. Because they really were!

But a few years back, maybe when he was eleven, his mother introduced him to someone from the ruling house. His name was Alfred, and though Arthur didn't want to admit it, he and the younger prince became instant buddies at the first few minutes. The prince was so energetic, so loudmouthed that Arthur was almost scared, but fascination overpowered the fear. Why, it was never so noisy in his room. That scared him. But then again, having someone call him "Arty" was better than being addressed "young lord" or just "Arthur" by his parents. It was new, and Arthur welcomed everything new. And another thing that was new? He would hear his mom saying, _"he needs Alfred so he won't turn into that!"_ He didn't know what it meant, so he let it slide.

But as a year slowly passed between them, Arthur couldn't help but notice some change. There was something different, he could just say. He could feel it. As the early days of what his maid called "puberty" dawned upon him, he realized that he wasn't...like everyone else. Since he was only exposed to Alfred, wich was a guy, a very influential and interesting one, his interest with the other gender was slowly, slowly lessened until it turned to nothing. He would look at his friend for long periods of time, too long, because Alfred would then wave his hand in front of his face. When Alfred wasn't there to visit him, he would find himself staring out the window, at the knights guarding the palace. Until his father noticed.

That was when his parents started screaming whenever he wasn't there.

Arthur opened the door, sighing as he looked at the unicorn figurine sitting atop his desk. Alfred had given it to him at his birthday last year, saying, "Everytime you look at it, you'll remember who's the hero!". _Yeah, a hero you were._

He shut the door, then all but flopped unto his bed. The screams were stiffled, but he could still pick up some shouts too loud. Arthur buried his nose into the fabrics of his bed, still hinting that ever-masculine scent of Alfred, who was lying at this very place this late afternoon. He left just before his parents started getting at each other's throats. But he didn't like Alfred that way, just a little bit infatuated.

That ball was two days away. Two days until Arthur would be swarmed with women asking for marriage.  
That was the main purpose of the ball, wasn't it?  
For him to be on the "right" path again.  
To be married. To find a woman.  
That was all the ball was about.

* * *

**A/N: There! A long chapter for you guys! It was actually really fun to write, except for that "depressed Francis" shit. I just checked the play, and read that Romeo was depressed because Rosaline, his love at the beginning of the story, was a Capulet while he was a Montague. That rant shit didn't really happen in the real Romeo and Juliet. And for those people who read the scrap of insult, uhh, thanks for surviving! And please don't flame me...I warned you in the A/N before the chapter...*awaits flames with open arms***

**So we have Alfred. Yup. Alfred is the equivalent of Count Paris, though they weren't engaged. Alfred's his close friend in this version. Andrew, or Scotland, is Tybalt. Though here they are brothers, not cousins.**

**Oh, and thanks for the reviews I got! They're three, but I absolutely thought no one would actually read this! I'm so happy! *dances with glitter everywhere*  
**  
**In the Philippines, it's still Tuesday, but I wanted to post it today so that other people in different time zones got my promise of posting it on a Wednesday (or a Monday to some)! But regular updates starting from this chapter onwards will be (Philippine time) next Wednesday, this week's Friday and Saturday. Hope it's okay with you guys :))**

**Next chapter's when the story really starts. Like seriously.**

**BUON. SAN. VALENTINO! GAHHHH! THAT GERITA TAG ON TUMBLR IS GETTING NOISY! WOHOO!**

**See you in the next chapter :D -Frau Haile**


	4. You Don't Simply State

**A/N: THIS CHAPTER IS DIVIDED INTO TWO PARTS! THIS IS PART ONE! PART TWO IS STILL IN EDITING! BE HAPPY! :D! PS TO THOSE WHO THINK YOU CAN SKIP THIS PART YOU'RE WRONG :))**

**Yey, I finally got off my lazy ass and WROTE THIS. Sorry I wasn't able to update for two weeks, apparently the Bridging Program is being a rake up the ass so yeah! Also MIDTERMS ARE UP O_O HOW ARE AMERICAN HIGH SCHOOLERS DEALING WITH THIS STRESS GAHH.  
**

**If you're wondering how people drew in the 17th century, please read Wikepidea. It stated that artists often made drawing tools for themselves. I don't know how, maybe they grabbed some charcoal and started doodling with it. I don't do a lot of research...hehe... in here they use a pencil. Bear with it, please? And I don't seem to get why people wore such costly-looking outfits...too much lace and ribbons and cloth and just fuck make it stop please how do they even have sex with that amount of clothes so it takes longer to remove the clothing than to have sex my god I don't like that.**

**THANKS FOR THE FAVES, FOLLOWS AND REVIEWS! *sends out Internet hugs and cookies* I KNOW THEY'RE LIKE SO FEW BUT I DON'T CARE I LOVE THEM :D**

**Warnings: Language, angst.**  
**Disclaimer: I am 13. I cannot own such stuff like Hetalia, nor Romeo and Juliet. I hadn't graduated from high school or college. Also, I'm broke. Always broke. Ain't no ownin' a billion dollah bussiness. Ain't no fightin' no sue cuz no moneh.  
**

* * *

Arthur glared at the prince. Now really. Really. I mean, yeah, the prince was of a higher rank; he was just a noble while the prince actually owned the whole fucking place but really. Arthur couldn't help but facepalm.

"Idiot. You are supposed to hold it like this. Yes, like that. No, no, put it back where it was, there, there, a little bit to the left- Alfred stop playing with the gum eraser!"

They were currently in the library, with Arthur trying to teach Alfred how to realistically copy a vase of flowers. With charcoal. Which wasn't going very well. It was more like Arthur yelling some shit about Alfred and Alfred not giving a shit about what was being yelled. And Arthur thought princes was well mannered. Apparently he was wrong. He suddenly wished the older prince wasn't like this.

"But Aaaarty~! I don't wanna sketch flowers! I want to go horse riding! _Pleeeaaase?_"

Alfred pouted, then looked up at Arthur with wide, puppy-dog eyes. Alfred knew the Kirkland was immune to his "faces", but he tried nonetheless. Also, trying is where how far he was gonna make it.

Arthur grimaced. "Belt up, Alfred. The last time you did that you fell off and almost broke your neck. You are always so careless, I cannot trust you with the horses we have here," Arthur firmly stated. Man, Alfred needs discipline sometimes, even though they were the same age. The horses his family owned were for battles, and the two horses that were for riding are being used for the carriage. The ruling family has entrusted the Kirklands for supplying the battle horses-and to keep them as battle horses. Only the knights were allowed to use them, not even anyone from the ruling house. Apparently Alfred didn't seem to care, and hopped right on one when he spotted it grazing in the small plain the Kirklands had in their palace territory. That horse turned out to have escaped the cage of the other horses. Let's just say the end result was a black eye, a split lip, a twisted ankle and a broken arm. Good thing the arm wasn't really severe, but the ankle almost didn't make it. Almost.

"Dude, is this gummy stuff you call an eraser really an eraser?"

"Yes Alfred, now put that bloody thing down, you have to hold the pencil like-"

"But 'tis so formable and sticky! This must be some sort of clay, ain't it?"

Arthur sighed heavily. Damn Alfred for being so loud. He had the strong desire to just go,_ "Fuck this shit, you're there, I'm here, let's see if you can survive without me,"_ but he just couldn't because he was a gentleman and Alfred was his only friend. Though Arthur can't bring himself to blame Alfred; it must have been Alfred's first time to hold one. Arthur snapped his fingers in front of Alfred's eyes, which was currently raping the gum eraser.

"Use your common sense, will you? It is called an eraser because it can erase. Clay does not erase things. Now..."

For the next two hours, Arthur taught the younger prince how to properly hold the pencil, use said pencil to measure proportions, and to add proper shade to the drawing without using lines. Arthur knew this thing- he's been doing it since he was seven. Alfred had declared that they could do anything on Arthur's upcoming fourteenth birthday, and this was his chance to introduce Alfred to the world of art. He was strongly tempted to ask Alfred for a kiss, though he suppressed it. Alfred should never know. The prince has always been naive, but as his orientation became bolder and bolder, Arthur seemed to notice Alfred knowing. Just that slightest bit of "I know what you are" on his face every time there was silence between them. Though Alfred didn't say it out loud, Arthur wasn't shedding any covers.

"Okay, okay, there! I'm done! Now you can frame it somewhere in your room and now can we pleeeeease ride one of your horses? Please Arty? You've got like, three hundred of them!"

Ignoring the plea, Arthur gently took a hold of Alfred's parchment._ If only you knew they all are technically yours._

His eyes scanned the drawing, and couldn't stop himself from silently swooning. It was, by the standards of a beginner, almost perfect. The vase, though kind of odd-looking, was properly shaded and didn't look like it was "floating". The flowers' stalks were curved at the proper angles, the leaves bended just at the right proportions. And the flower bulb itself- looked so realistic Arthur felt some jealousy bubble up inside him. Arthur shifted his eyes from the vase and the drawing, trying to find some mistake that might have occured but found none. He made a mental note not to let Alfred see his sketches. Also not to further teach him again. He put the parchment back on the desk.

"Impressive, but you need more practice."

The little devil in Arthur couldn't help himself sometimes.

Sapphire eyes twinkled as the prince smirked. "Nah, Arty, you're just saying that! I know how beautiful you think it is, because you can't help but see me as perfect!" Alfred gave a small chuckle as Arthur's cheeks flushed a bright red.

"Nonsense, you nitwit! I taught you how, I am the one who gets the credit, so shut your mouth!"

Alfred smiled at the non-serious command. His friend really was unique!

"Stop smiling."

Oh, and fesity too.

"...git!"

Very feisty indeed.

That morning seemed so normal. Normal? Not really. Because that morning, several women are currently pampering themselves with creams and expensive body scrubs. Several gowns are being readied, several ribbons, shoes, bows and powder are being prepared. After all, who wouldn't want to look beautiful, when the young lord of one of the richest families in Verona, is to choose his spouse? At this very night, a certain ball in Verona starts with one simple intoduction...

"The young lord Kirkland wishes to find his bride."

* * *

Antonio could say he has never felt tension so thick in his life.

They were currently in Antonio's mansion, getting ready for the ball. Since Antonio's house was closer to the Kirkland's palace, they opted to just get ready there instead of at Francis'. The ruling house was practically neighbors with the Kirklands, but although Gilbert and his brother both lived at the ruling house's palace, and the albino was the highest ranking knight in the army, he still isn't allowed to bring guests there.

The two honestly thought Francis repaired himself when Antonio gave that good little speech a few days ago, but now, at the day of the ball, Francis was acting like he was just bombarded with the same insluts sevenfold. Today, when Antonio and Gilbert arrived at Francis' house to go pick him up, the Frenchman walked up to them with his head hung so low it looked like he was bowing. The two automatically knew something was wrong, and Gilbert had inquired about it.

"It's nothing, really, I'm fine, let's get going."_ They won't care, they don't know how you feel, they won't know how to deal with it._

He flashed them a smile beneath all the hair covering his face, but it looked so pained, like he forced himself. Gilbert frowned. His voice was sullen, empty. And he is one who knows Francis' voice was_ never_ like that. _Ever_. Even at the worst of problems. Even when they come continuously and don't seem to have an end. Most of all, Francis was never depressed. Except that last episode a few days ago. Which he thought Francis already woke up of. Apparently he was wrong.

"Francis, spit it. I can see right through you."

The smile was immediately wiped out of the Frenchman's face, and replaced with flat line. He looked down even lower. Heloved her. He _loved_ her. But she won't love him..._ever_...

The albino squinted at him, arms crossing at his chest. This must be really serious. Silence stretched, and Gilbert was getting irritated with Francis not speaking, just standing there with his head down. He side-glanced at Antonio, who looked at him worriedly. He looked back at his hunched-over friend. If there was one thing he learned at the army, it was this; "When worst comes to worst, always use the worst."

"I said_ spit it_!", he growled.

"Alright! I'm still not over her! That Kirkland! She's just so enthralling and hypnotizing and so beauti-"

_Slap._

His head swung to the side. Stinging tingled at his left cheek. Slowly, he brought a shaking hand to his face. He winced.

If Francis was asking for it, he will be given it.

"Stop! Just _stop_ it!"

_Don't lose control, don't lose control, don't lose-_

"Mein _Gott_, Francis! Get the fuck over her already! Can't you see she hates you?! Can't you see that she will never, ever in this whole fucking kingdom love you back?! Jesus, you don't even know her name! You don't even know if what you're feeling is real or not! Stop being such a pussy, Francis! Get the fuck over her, and get over her right fucking now! We're trying to help you here but you're just pushing us away! Look at yourself! You're starting to turn into that shit she just described you as! How long, Francis?! How long are you going to burden us with this crap?! Get to your freaking senses already! Meine Gott, just- just _meine **verfickte** Gott_!"

The words echoed into his ears. The hand remained still at his abused cheek as he silently mulled over each sentence that was said. He knew it was pointless. He knew he was not going anywhere. But he loved her...

Antonio stood by, watching as Gilbert screamed at Francis, as if he were a blur in the background. He wished he could help, he wished he could get over there and get in between them, but he was just frozen in his place. But still, Francis wasn't over her yet? Really? He was not one to be negative, but Francis really did deserve that hit. He needs to snap out of it. Silently, he stood, waiting for the whole commotion to end.

Gilbert finished with several heaves of breath. There. That should do it. Francis should get out of that zone before something bad happens to him!

Silence.

Francis stood, stiff for a moment, before finally straightening up and looking at Gilbert right in his eyes.

Gilbert stared back in shock. He has never seen the eyes of the Frenchman so...empty. So much apathy. They were just dull, sullen blue orbs floating in a pinkish space. There was't even pain or misery- they were just emotionless.

"Let's go." No sugarcoating. No sweet name calling. No_ life._

Hence the thick atmosphere in Antonio's room in his family's mansion.

Gilbert was already dressed for the ball. He was sitting on the divan stationed for looking out the window, anger still evident on his face. Francis, also ready, was on the other side of the room, on a thick, red couch for the brunette's siestas. While Antonio himself was slouching on his bed. Well, he seemed out of place here. And confused. Because he was the one in between two friends fighting. The tension was so thick you could slice through it with a sword. It's been like this since they left; on the horses going here Antonio was in between the knight and the Bonnefoy, walking to his room he was also in between the knight and the Bonnefoy, and also in his fucking room. He was. In._ Fucking_. Between. The knight and the Bonnefoy. Which wasn't really good.

They have been sitting like this for like, ten minutes. Gilbert constantly avoided Francis' gaze, and Francis avoided his. But everytime they would lock in each other's eyes, it would be with a glare and a huff. And Antonio just sat there, watching the silent war rage in front of him.

Tension wasn't beautiful in his opinion.

He started to trace his fingers over the embroidery of his sheets. He needed to just say something. The silence was driving him mad. Normally they would be laughing or telling stories or trying to sing some drunken song while sober. Silence was one thing that wasn't on their to-do list. No exceptions.

Oh well, here goes nothing.

"Well, Francis, if you weren't being so overdramatic with that Kirkland, then this would not have happened. I mean, there's a ball ahead! You could certainly meet women there. Maybe even leave me and Gilbert behind because you'd have so many women in your arms! Francis you're good-looking, I would admit, and it would be easy for you to get all those ladies. If only you could just toughen up and forget that Kirkland even existed, then it would be better! Oh, and with Gilbert. Gilbert needs an apology from your attitude. No offense Francis, but you deserved that hit. You honestly needed some sense put into you. By the way, I don't appreciate the tension so please stop glaring at each other it's making me feel out of place because I don't glare."

Francis looked over at his cousin, then his friend. Then back to Antonio. He was humming some tune softly while running his fingers on his sheets. He thought over what Antonio just said. In all senses, his cousin was right. Antonio might seem like a dunderhead at first, but he was pretty knowledgable. Crap, what had he just done. He was weighing his problem on the shoulders of his friends. Guilt stabbed at him as he glanced at Gilbert. Now he understood. The albino was just worried about his sake.

The short rant was said with a gentle, soothing voice. Gilbert looked out to the window, feeling rather resentful over what he had just done to his friend. Shouted. Slapped. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. He really was a horrible friend. Crimson eyes glanced at Francis, who was looking at him with evident guilt on his face.

That snapped him out of it.

Antonio perked up at the sound of clothes ruffling against furniture, then footsteps. He was not expecting what he just saw.

Francis and Gilbert in a tight hug.

Swooning, he beamed brightly, hearing Francis and Gilbert's apologies start flying out of their mouths.

The mix of "I'm sorry," "I'm sorry too," "No I'm the one who's supposed to be sorry," "Nein, really I'm awesome so I should be the one sorry no objections," were the prettiest things that Antonio has ever heard.** (A/N: Congratulations, you made up, really, how dare you make me write something so stressing-_/SLAPPED_)**

And it that one moment, Francis felt the life swoop back in him once again.

**(A/N: NAHH JUST KIDDING XDD TROLLL)**

Francis gave Gilbert one last tap on the back, and withdrew. The smile he wore was blindingly bright. Ah, it felt so great to be smiling once again! Being depressed was tiring, whew! He traced his smile with his fingertips. When was the last time he smiled like this? When was the last time he laughed so hard he'll have to hold his belly? That reminds him, where was his other hand and- _**oh.**_

"Francis. Your hand. Off my ass._ Now._" Whoops.

"But it's so firm and stiff Gilbert, I could not resist,_ ohonhonhonhon~_"

But Gilbert and Antonio could only laugh. Their friend was back! Perversion was a sign of normality between the three. The brunette looked over to a laughing Francis, who's hair was currently being assaulted by an equally laughing Gilbert. It just so happened that behind them was a window...

Sunset.

The ball starts right after sunset.

Well, he guessed they'll just have to be fashionably late.

* * *

"You look excellent, young lord."

Arthur resisted the urge to retort. The compliment was forced. It was always forced. Fake. Unreal._ Lie_. The Kirkland thought about how long he could stomach this. Slowly, he ruffled the lace cloth hanging from his neck, taking care not to accidentally unclamp the family's brooch firmly clipping said cloth to his vest. He needed to wear it, his mother said. So that the women will know who you are.

Like he wanted women in the first place.

The only ever reason why he even thought of attending this ball is because of the people. Not because of women that'll swarm all over him. Being locked up in a castle with no one to talk to except a loud-mouthed prince and the occasional brother was starting to bore him. He wanted to at least make acquaintances, talk to real people. But he didn't really expect anything big- his father would throw out the first man he would be looking at.

Hands were brushing away some hair that got on his face. He glanced back up at the mirror, and saw the maid's fingers intertwined within his sandy blonde hair. Seconds trickled by as they continued to weave in his locks. He held up a hand, and the maid quickly retracted hers.

"Is the Lady in castle premises?"

The maid looked appalled, before answering, "She is checking the ball room, young lord."

"You are dismissed. Deem me ready and call for her."

"Yes, young lord."The maid turned to leave. Arthur let out a thankful sigh before sitting down on his bed. Without thinking, his hands flew up to his head and quickly rustled it back to a disarray of messy locks. He liked it better that way, thank you very much.

Now the waiting.

If you wanted an example of misery, here's Arthur right over here. Why, he's an all in one package. Shut in by both parents in a huge, labyrinth-like palace, who's mother apparently planned him to be friends with the younger prince of Verona so they get a better image, which also lead to him being a supressed homosexual, in turn making his father bat shit angry with him then screams and argues with his wife, but doesn't show it whenenver he's around; smile like a proud king in his presence. But once he's out, poof. Gay. Homo. Poofter. Faggot. Sprout out your best insult. And he has this obsession with rainbows and unicorns which makes his brother uncomfortable. He feels as if his parents hate him. Hell, he feels like everyone hates him. All of what admiration or respect he gets from the people at the castle is just fake.

So utter fake.

Lie. Lie. Lie. Keep on lying, lying lying.

His parents never seemed to even remotely "like" him. Sure, they provided him with more than what he would ever need, so much food was presented upon him that it scared Arthur how big they were, bought him clothing of all kinds from the ends of the ends of the earth, but there was just something there that was missing. There was no_ passion_. No commitment. His mother always smiled, his father always laughed, but they were all fake. Lies. Liars. They were all just _liars_. They didn't love him. No one did. No one actually did care. The only thing they ever noticed is that he was a faggot. Faggot. Worthless little faggot looking men up and down and gets off of it. No one did love Arthur in this palace, maybe except his brother but that counts next to nothing. He was just another tool for continuing the heritage. It was always the same; rich young lady wears rich-looking clothes, rich young man notices and courts her in a rich-looking way then bam! Bed, no pulling out, the lady's got pregnancy for ensured marriage then there you have it. You have an heir. And it irritated Arthur to no end because that was the_ main purpose of this** bloody** ball!_

Arthur's heart dropped to his stomach. That ball. It starts right after sundown. He looked at the window, seeing the orange sun almost completely covered. Less than an hour to count before he would feel hell burning.

Footsteps and voices outside the door reeled Arthur back to the real world.

"Prepare knights in entrances North, West and East, do not open the South gate. I want our guests unchosen, meaning I don't care if one of those pesky Bonnefoys enter our palace, they just get to see my son getting all the ladies. Peasants and animals are not allowed to enter. Do not limit our guests in numbers, even the males. My husband can shove it up his."

"Yes, Lady Kirkland."

"Very well. You are dismissed." The voices stopped at his door, then there were footsteps getting softer and softer. When the maid was seemingly gone, there was a knock on his door.

"Arthur, dear, may I come in?"

_Stop being so bloody fake, woman._

"Yes, mother."

The door opened, revealing Arthur's mother in an elegant, green silk gown which's ends were practically drowned in laces. She was wearing the family ring, necklace and pendant, all of the same shade of emeralds. That was the family colour, corresponding to the most common eye hues of the family; Lord Kirkland had hard, piercing green, but his mother had a cross between mocha and forest hues. While Arthur, his parents didn't know why, got a pure shade of emerald. Which last appeared six generations ago. Her hair was set in a low up-do, elegant, caramel-blonde curls framing her face. Arthur would hate to admit, but this bitch looked beautiful. She always did, he doesn't know how she does it.

"So, are you ready? Oh, your hair is so unruly! Comb it back, the ladies would love to see how handsome you are!" Before he knew it, Lady Kirkland was already brushing his hair back. Arthur made a noise of disapproval; he always preferred his hair messy. After his hair was deemed kept, the Lady sat down beside her son. She looked at him with a serious expression. Arthur stared back. _Woah, woah, get ready for a lecture._

"Arthur, I need to discuss with you something before the ball starts." Her voice was calm but firm, and Arthur didn't like this one little bit. He was ready, yeah, "no men allowed for you," "don't talk to the ugly ladies," some obvious shit he knew. But for some reason, he felt like it was about something else. It made him gulp anxiously.

"W-what is it?" _Damn it Arthur, don't stutter!_

"You do know that our family is rivals with the Bonnefoys, yes?"

Of course Arthur knew that! He has been hearing from that family ever since he was still drawing lines. If there was one thing he could say about them, it would be that they were shit. Yeah, they were just shit. They lost half the time, so yeah, they were shit. Waving their white flags all the time. He could recall his cousin, Michelle, telling him that she had a recent squabble with this Bonnefoy dressed in rags at her trusted tailoring shop. Now they dressed in rags? Pathetic. That sight would be lovely to the Kirklands.

"Very much, mother."

"You see, this...feud we're having right now isn't going to deter them from coming into our teri-"

"What?! What the_ bloody_ hell, mother?! Are you really allowing those cheap, filthy French _shit_ step foot in our castle?! No, no, I object,_ no_!"

He huffed, crossing his arms against his chest. What is his mother thinking?! He can't even imagine! What the bloody hell!

Lady Kirkland sat, a worried look on her face. Arthur isn't coping...augh. She may be her husband's fifth cousin, but she is still not an entire Kirkland, who were pure British...she had a little of Irish, Scottish and Welsh blood. Her husband was the Kirkland. She actually went and became friends with the Bonnefoys...but it ended quite badly.

"Look, Arthur, the Bonnefoys still are citizens of Verona. Believe it or not, Arthur, Bonnefoys are also nobles, like us. Wouldn't you want your ball to look extravagant with Bonnefoys in the place? Also, they get to see you get all the ladies, making them jealous. Wouldn't that be nice?" _No, no it isn't, Bonnefoys aren't tools..._

The blonde mulled it over. His mother is right...he could show those Bonnefoys...

"I agree, mother." He just couldn't find it in his heart to tell her he approved as much as he does now.

Smiling, the lady clasped her hands together. "Splendid! Oh, look outside, the sun is about to set, let us go, shall we?"

The lady held Arthur's hand, which was trembling just the slightest. This is it. This is really it. He exhaled, then walked with his mother out of his room.

* * *

**(A/N: OHHHHH CAN YOU FEEL THE ANXIETY-/SLAPPED AGAIN)**

**Anyway, yeah, here. Again, sorry for not being able to update...school's been pretty hectic like HELL. I don't promise to be able to update every week, maybe once every two weeks? Three? But just remember, no matter how loooooong my update time is, this story will continue. That is a pinky promise! Part two of this will be posted tomorrow, okay? Bye!**

**The next chaptah is BOOM!**  
**-Frau Haile :D  
****  
Edit: So I got a review telling me that school in the Philippines ends on March and starts on June. Yes they do, yes I know because I've been going to school like that for seven years already, but the reason why I have classes during the summer is because I have to attend the Bridging Program of my school to comply to K-12. They basically squeeze 1st Year High School in one month, so when I go to school at June 17, I am already in 2nd Year. I don't know _why _they need to do that, but it's required so I could graduate high school. That is why I cannot update as quick as I did with the first three chapters, because of the stress and MIDTERMS. Who the hell thought of midterms I have a shotgun right here.**

If you still are confused you can Google it :D  



	5. When Normality Fades

**A/N: YISS THIS CHAPTER YISS**

**It was soooo hard to write this chapter, especially that little gift I have at the middle part (I HAVE TO FULFILL THE BEING T-RATED OF THIS STORY I DON'T WANNA DISSAPPOINT MY READERS)... I had to text my friend at the night before midterms to ask what to put in there and she was SLEEPING. I am warning you, it may seem awkward because it is the first time I have ever written that kind of thing. With the stuff that will happen here, Arthur and Francis might be a little OOC, and I apologize for that. PS There are lots of sentences in italic, you might get confused so please bear with me! :D**

**Warnings: Language will be a permanent staple in the warnings. Lime yaoi, feels, talking horses. Thankfully not dancing. (OH MY GOSH DID FRAU HAILE SAY LIME YAOI OH OH OHHHHHHH MY GA- SHATTAP)**  
**Disclaimer: Santa and Satan will have to switch jobs for me to own these two pretty things.  
**

* * *

The moon was shining brightly in the night sky as three horses raced against the brick path. One was a brilliant shade of black, the other was rich brown, and the last was silken white. They honestly didn't know why their masters wanted to go in _here_, of all places. Ebony horse gave white horse a look of confusion, then white horse answered with a small whine. Brunette just trotted, happy but perplexed. Well, if it meant tomatoes when they got home, he would do it. Black horse did whatever his master told him to, it was the rule of being a battle horse. While whitey over here just wanted to parade his beauty wherever he went. He wasn't being narcissistic, but he was pretty. Very pretty. And strong too, mind you.

But enough of the horse talk, they arrived at the palace gates. Each was pulled back by their masters. Black horse smelled the air. Oh, different air. There was definitely something going on. He reminded himself to keep his senses alert. Happy little brown shit just thought of tomatoes. White horse could sense something...this place was elegant but dangerous. Oh, and there were two female horses somewhere in the vicinity...well yeah but last time he did that his master was furious. But he was always like that, it was unfair.

The three hopped off of their horses. They were at the East gate, and juding with them the only ones entering from here on, the ball must have started already. Oh, fashionably late.

"The awesome has arrived!" Gilbert announced, smiling triumphantly as he patted his horse's head. He could hear music and see light emanating from the stone walls. Just imagine all the women in there! That place was huge! Though he was a bit worried on Francis' part; he was a Bonnefoy, after all.

"Shh, Gilbert. Remember, Francis isn't supposed to be here," the brunette hissed at the albino. He couldn't risk Francis getting discriminated yet again, who knows how severe the damage will be the second time around. He couldn't help but wonder why there were no guards here. Well, the party has started, so maybe the knights made their leave already. But even then, Kirkland knights or none, Francis was to be held confidential.

Francis stared at the castle anxiously. Kirkland. Territory. He will be fucked some way or another. Swallowing, he made the first few steps towards the gate, following his two companions, who went ahead of him. The two gave him a signal, then he went and joined them. He was finally inside the gates. Of_ Kirkland_ territory. The Frenchman couldn't stop from swallowing nervously. Any minute now, and he could be loosing a limb, an arm, and two fingers.

Gilbert noticed Francis' uneasiness. "Frenchie, relax! No one's gonna kill you! I'm here, leading knight of the Veronian army, no one is doing anything that's gonna harm you as long as I'm here," he reassured. But he couldn't really blame Francis; his family and the Kirklands have been fighting for quite some time. His grin dropped, replaced with a worried frown.

The three tiptoed among the grass, going for the entrance of the castle. They were careful not to make so much noise. Francis loooked up ahead. Just a few meters more, and they'll be there. The music was getting louder and louder. He could feel his heart beat faster at each step. Almost there, almost there, the light was getting stronger, just a few more steps and—!

_**"Halt!"  
**_

Hello, here is an autobiography of a Bonnefoy who died because of a heart attack, thank you for shopping.

All colour drained from Francis' face as he felt the tip of something sharp pierce at his upper back. _A sword_, he thought. This was it, He was dead. Like, totally. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead as tremors started to rock his body. At the sides of his eyes, he could see his two friends frozen, side-glancing at him with shocked and anxious eyes.

"Who are you, and what is your business here?!"

No, he couldn't say he was a Bonnefoy, he would be killed right then and there! He stuttered, trying to make an excuse, but all that came form his mouth were strings of useless gurgles.

He saw Antonio move at the corner of his eye. _No, goddamnit, Antonio, not at this time—!_

"No, Toni, I'll do it!" The piercing sensation on Francis' back faltered a bit but regained after a split second. Gilbert turned, and his very face seemed to make the guard's eyes fall from their sockets.

"S-sir Beilschmidt! I-I did not know it was you! I- I apologize greatly!" The guard went down to his knees, head touching the ground. Francis and Antonio both turned, perplexion evident on their faces. Oh wait, yeah, Gilbert was the head of all knights. Well, it saved their asses. Whew. The sword was splayed not far from the guard, which was once about to rip through Francis. The Frenchman heaved a heavy sigh of relief. Narrow! So very_ fucking_ narrow!

"_Ja, ja,_ get off of the ground, you didn't know it was me the awesome, and since I am the awesome, I won't tell anyone of this. Just let us in, okay?" At Gilbert's words, the knight all but scurried to his feet, and gave Gilbert a firm salute. The albino saluted back. "Y-yes sir, please proceed! I apologize yet again, sir Beilschmidt! Wait, is your company—"

"DON'T ASK!"

"Y-y-yes sir!" Well, yeah, they were allowed in here but—

"He is a family friend, go back to duty! That is an order from the awesome!" With that, Gilbert grabbed the hands of his two friends, and made a dash for the entrance.

* * *

"See that lady over there, Arthur? She's the daughter of a good friend of mine at the other side of the kingdom. She is a beauty, isn't she?"

"No, I mean _yes_, she is pretty, but I do not—"

"Oh, how about that woman? Her family migrated somewhere from Russia, one of the three heirs of the Braginski family."

Arthur glanced at her, and did _not_ like how she glared like a devil. He quickly brought his eyes back to his father, which he was currently sitting beside at at the elevated platform of the ballroom. His brother sat some few chairs away, smoking from his pipe. The Lord was currently pointing out some women whom he found suitable for him, but Arthur couldn't really care less. Every lady was dressed the same; ballgowns so wide he questioned how they walked, hair up atop their heads adorned with outrageous ribbons and laces, and their faces were smeared with thick, colored powder. Shit, they freaked the bloody hell out of him.

"Well, Arthur dear, aren't you going to go down yet?" His mother inquired. She was sitting to his right, to his left was his father. He quickly shook his head.

His father laughed. "Come on, Arthur, talk to them! You're the reason of this ball!" _No, the reason is so that I could continue the tree, bastard._

Arthur looked down once again. So many women. Some were dancing with their respective partners, he was thankful for that, while some where giggling amongst groups of themselves, either to another lady or a man. But what scared him most were the women who were shooting him cold stares right at him, as if saying, _"get the fuck down in here so I can flirt with you!"_ The very reason why he didn't want to go down.

"But they are waiting, Arthur. Don't keep them up to only your face."

He gulped. His father had lost all humor form his voice. Well, he didn't want to end up worse than he should. Shaking, he lifted himself off the chair.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

"Family names?"

A man was guarding the front door to the ballroom. He had a scroll of parchment with him, which the three guessed were a list of names. The man had hard, piercing green eyes and bright blonde hair reaching his shoulders. He had an accent; the three just couldn't point it out. Maybe from a Germanic country? They're putting their bet on Swiss...but right now that wasn't really important.

"Beilschmidt and Fernandez-Carriedo."

"How about him?" The receptionist pointed towards Francis, who was trying his best to keep on smiling. He was nervous. As. Fuck.

"W-well, you see, I am Antonio's cousin—"

"I need your family names, not how you are related."

Gilbert gave Francis a light tap on the back. "Don't worry, me and Antonio are here."

Francis smiled nervously. Okay...take a deep breath, Francis...

"Bonnefoy."

The receptionist didn't even blink as he opened the doors.

Wait. What the fuck.

Francis looked the man up and down, one eyebrow arched and lower jaw opened wide. The receptionist impatiently motioned his head for them to get in.

"Lady Kirkland has allowed your family to be guests at this ball. Have you not known? Or do you want me to send for the knights, hm? Get in before I do, _Bonnefoy_."

Francis blinked. They did? That...that was, nice? Well, okay. "_Oui, oui,_ we are getting in. Toni, Gilbert?"

The brunette and the albino gave the arguably Swiss man a curt nod, then joined Francis in entering the huge, wooden doors.

* * *

**-Francis' POV-**

I was still open-jawed when I entered the castle. Had Lady Kirkland really...I still could not believe it! How could she? We absolutely hated each other! But I was not one to criticize this...privilage kind of thing. Oh well, that is done, what do we have here and—

Oh.

_Oh mon cher._

There was a beautiful, crystal chandelier hanging from the off-white stone ceiling. Looking down, women in elegant gowns pranced around with their respective partners, or huddled in groups, their faces hidden behind their laced, silk fans as they fawned over certain men. In the center of the ballroom was a long table, filled with goblets of wine, platters if the most scrumptious food from appetizers to desserts, and vases of roses and lilies adorned it's middle. In certain corners of the ballroom were small groups of musicians, playing assorted instruments. They were scattered evenly in corners so that music was delivered equally. And on the very front of the marble flooring was set an elevated area, where I could barely see the Lord and his Lady having a toast of their wine. Wait, didn't they have a son? Isn't it his fourteenth birthday? I could remember Toni mentioning that during the ride going here...

Wait, where were Toni and Gilbert?!

I spun around, and did not see them there beside me. They were just right over here! I stepped around, my head going left and right in search for them. Those two better not have left me here on purpose!

All of a sudden, giggles erupted from behind me.

_Ladies'_ giggles.

Oh, you know, just me looking excellent from behind. My companions can get lost for a little, I have women to attend to.

I put on my most charming smile, then turned back towards the ladies. They were all so _tres beau_! One dressed in soft pink whispered to the one beside her, then they all broke down into light puffs of laughter. I laughed with them. Slowly, I approached the woman in pink, then gently took her hand in mine. I looked up at her, right in her soft, brown eyes, then brought my lips to the back of her hand. "You are truly truly beautiful tonight, _mon amour._"

They all squealed before quietly hushing themselves, while the lady I kissed, she looked of Asian descent, just stared blankly at me with reddish cheeks.

"If you may excuse me, fine gentleman, what is thous name?" A girl with puffy, caramel colored hair inquired. I flashed her a flirty smile. She took a quick inhale of breath, after which hid her mouth behind her fan. I wonder what'll be their reactions...

"Francis Bonnefoy, _mes dames._" I bowed, and plucked a rose from one of the vases on the table, then handed it to the light brown-haired woman. Several pairs of eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"This gentleman is a Bonnefoy? How splendid!"

"Oh, please, god bless me, he is one fine man!"

"I am unworthy of your presence, young lord!"

Ah, just as expected.

I smirked lightly. "Of course, of course, but please, may I have a toast with you first?" Grabbing a goblet of wine, I firmly raised it. The ladies looked shocked for a split second, before quickly reaching for their own goblets, then raised theirs. A small clink of white gold, then I was sipping the beautiful, purple liquid. Nice, nice, but French wine was better...

"What do you say, young lord Bonnefoy-"

"Francis, please. Francis."

"-Francis," she blushed profusely before continuing, "may I have a dance with you?" The lady gulped, then quickly hid behind one of the other women. They laughed lightheartedly before ushering her to face back at me.

I smiled slyly. "But_ mon cher,_ I would rather bring you to the altar," I took a step towards her, then huskily whispered in her ear, _"then to a bed of roses."_

A dragged whine, before she promptly fell to the floor.

Oops.

People came crowding over to us, whispering in hissed voices at the lady. Said woman lay on the floor, seemingly having a small trail of blood drip from her nose. I guess that was too much...

Before I knew it, there was pushing somewhere in the gathered people, then appeared knights of the Kirklands. They lifted the fainted lady, put her on a stretcher, then quickly ran her away, maybe to the castle infirmary. The crowd stood dazed for a moment, before quickly evaporating, back to their own business.

That was...quick?

"Don't mind Lily, she'll be alright," a high-toned voice said. I whipped my hair to my right, then saw the group of ladies I was originally talking to. The one who spoke, a mocha-haired lady, was smiling at me. Not that kind of smile...this was more like platonic. I suddenly didn't feel flirty anymore. The smile was more like friendly.

"She's so sensitive, but I'm sure her brother will care for her." Her companions all gave short nods.

Brother? She looked somewhat of that guy outside the doors...

I beamed. "She was very pretty, I must say!"

"Don't mention anything while her brother's around, though.", she giggled.

"I will remember, young ladies, I will."

"By the way, I'm Elizabetha. This one over here is Bella, and the one in pink is Mei." Said women waved shortly, before shying back behind their fans.

"Ladies, by any chance, have you seen a man with white hair and another with brown? They are my companions."

Elizabetha quirked a brow, before answering, "I am afraid I haven't, my apologies. Though, you are a Bonnefoy, am I correct? What brings you to the ball of your...rival family?"

I tried my best not to grimace. _That Kirkland..._well, I'm going to have to say the other valid reason.

"The two men I have mentioned, they kind of, well, encouraged me at the wrong time, so I was not able to think properly about attending this ball."

"Oh, you were drunk?"

Before you start thinking there, I would have to make it clear; I like wine, but I am no drunkard.

"No, I was exhausted from the activities of the day, then they came up to my chambers when I was already about to sleep, then coerced me right when I was helpless of them," I said, amused. My friends are shitholes but they are adorable!

The ladies were all chuckling lightly. I laughed with them. Ah, this was also good, stealing hearts was kind of exhausting too, or having my heart stolen...

Just then, somewhere across the crowd, a pair of green eyes flashed for a split second. Then they disappeared. Like a blown out candle.

They were...bright, sharp green...but not piercing...? I stared, dazed. Those eyes were..._beautiful..._

"...aren't they, Francis? Wait, Francis? Hello?"

"W-w-what? That was n-nothing, what were you saying?"

Confused, Elizabetha squinted at me. I looked back at the eye's direction; they weren't there anymore.

"What are you looking at? Oh, have you found the apple of your eye?"

I smiled sadly. "You could say so."

I guessed Elizabetha sensed the tone of my voice, and she quickly backed away. I noticed her companions are no longer with her, maybe they got bored and went somewhere else.

"Ah, I guess I'll leave you thinking there. Don't wanna get in the way. 'Till we meet again, young lord." With that, she grinned lightly, then turned, into the blur of crowds.

And I just stood there, staring back at where the emerald eyes once flickered.

* * *

**-Arthur's POV-**

They were all staring at me as I went down the small steps down to the main ballroom. No, not at me, but the small, green brooch firmly set right below my neck. And I thought exposure was going to feel nice...it was not.

_Smile, Arthur. Smile at everyone._

The whisper of my mother went through my head like a mantra, and I quickly followed suit. If these motherfuckers held me down in the inside, I wasn't going to show them. I am Arthur bloody Kirkland, I do not show fear. _At all_. I lifted my chin, shoulders rolled back as I took the last few steps. Then, looking at all the guests, I smiled. No, more like smirked. Triumphantly.

It was then that I was tackled to the ground by a small lady with a bow on her head.

Holy shit was this the woman who glared like she owned the fucking place holy shit.

Before I knew it, she was holding my hands above my head, with just one hand, and her other held my chin in a tight grip. I could do nothing but stare into her crazed, violet eyes. They screamed nothing but pure hysteria, and what the fuck how the hell did she appear out of nowhere?!

"Get off of me, bitch! Get off, get off-"

Then there were faint whispers.

_"Marry me, Arthur Kirkland, marry me, marry me..."_

What the bloody fuck?!

**"MARRY ME! MARRY ME! MARRY ME!"**

Then suddenly, she was gone, being held away by a very, very tall man a few feet away from me. The man, with silvery, ashen blonde hair, was holding her seemingly sister by the arms. The lady was baring her teeth at me, still screaming, "MARRY ME! MARRY ME! MARRY ME!" Was this the Braginskis? Then that man must be Ivan... he looked at me with a cheery smile on his face but damn was it creepy. I supported myself with my palms, as the man quickly wrestled her away, to the East exit.

Well, first social interaction with someone not from the palace or the ruling house wasn't very nice.

Knights helped me up, and I was surprised to see my brother with them. He had this part-worried, part-_why are you so stupid?_ look on his face. I shrugged, and he walked back up, to his seat at the elevated area. What was the freaking point of going down?!

"Are you alright, young lord?"

"Yes, yes, leave me alone, I can take care of myself." A quick wave of my hand, and the knights went back to their posts.

People were staring at me.

Look away, look away wankers. I glared at them, and they seem to flinch before going back to their bussiness. Thank you, eyes and eyebrows. Except for some women...

I continued walking amidst the crowds, avoiding certain ladies looking like they were going to pounce on me like that..._bitch_. Anyway how do they walk with those gowns? They are so fucking wide, how the hell do they do that...

A few steps more, and I was by the goblets of wine on the long table. I was aware of some girls huddled in groups whispering at me, but I ignored them and took a quick swig of everything that was in the goblet. Leave me alone, women. I don't like any of you. Wait, this is wine, right?

I sputtered, dropping the goblet to the floor, clattering with a series of clinks. It was then that I was coughing into my gloved hand did I realize this was wine. How could you be so _stupid?_ I could hear someone coming forward, and I could do nothing to stop them as they started to pat my back.

"Go," wheeze, "away."

"What, you don't want my help? Then I'll just bloody leave you here if that's what you want!"

_Andrew? What the fuck is he doing here?_

"Look, I know you think of yourself as some grown-up piece of crap and you can go around hurting yourself and no one will fucking care, but you're wrong. Don't make me pound that sense in you, get it, Arthur?"

I grimaced. Did he even worry in the first place?! He just looked like it, but at thruth he didn't. I know him.

"I know you sound like you care, but you don't. Go away. Now."

"Fine then! Have a bloody grand time tripping over your own feet!" he spat, before picking up the dropped goblet, then marching away from me. Good, mind your own fucking bussiness. I held my chest, feeling some small burn where the liquid went down my throat. Now that I think of it, that was actually kind of good... I grabbed another goblet, then slowly this time, tipped the cup unto my lips. The wine still stung, but now it was kind of..._pleasant._

The whole place then started getting woozy...a mix of colors and music...

"Young Lord Kirkland?"

"Heh?" I turned, my feet wobbling for a little, then saw this really pretty girl wearing tons of bedsheets...oh wait it was a gown.

The swirling lady kind of looked at me weirdly, then ushered some more ladies with her. They all just stood there, whispering behind this hard cloth thing with laces and shit...that's a fan, isn't it? Maybe...

"W-what are y-you doing?" Did I say that right?

They all just laughed. Was I being funny? Hahaha...

"I would love to be your bride, young lord."

What bride? Whazzat?

"No, I am fairer, he would love me!"

"No, the one beside you is better!" I slurred.

The ladies all stared at me. I smiled. They all look _so_ funny!

"See? He absolutely likes me!"

"What? Like...I don't like anything!"

"Excuse me?!" they said all at the same time.

"I..I just like this, you know, this..." I lightly groped for a goblet. There, there! I raised it, and then promptly drank everything in one gulp. Well, before it was snatched right out of my hand.

"H-hey!"

"No, young lord, you have to be in your right mind!"

"I am in my right mind!" I then smiled at all of them. Wait...what? I don't smile!

It was then that they all just...smirked at me. Their faces all screamed _"I want you!"_

What...what the fuck just happened?!

"No! Get-get away from me!" I sprinted away from them, into the dancing crowds, knocking off a few people but I didn't really care. Those were..._women!_ I have just interacted with them! I kept running, not looking back. I could feel some eyes on me, even see some of them looking at me but I kept racing away._ I needed to get away!_

I was certain I was at the south part of the ballroom when I stopped running. From where I was standing, the huge, oak doors were a little than a hundred meters away. Right beside me was the long table filled with food, and I grimaced at the sight of the goblets. Did this table stretch out that long? How huge was this place, really?_ Very fucking huge._

I would have kept thinking when I heard footsteps approaching me. I turned, and saw a woman in one of those ballgowns.

No not again freaking please.

I glared at her. Just, why won't these ladies just leave me the fuck alone?!

"No, no, go away, I don't like you, fuck off."

"But young lord," she went closer, and I backed up, until the edge of the table hit my lower back. The lady inched towards me, until she and I were practically nose-to-nose . I wanted to just push her off and break her skull, but I couldn't. I just couldn't...hurt women in those extremes.

"...I am a noble..."

I huffed at her face. "Fuck yes, so am I, I don't need more money than I already have, shoo."

But the lady would not go away. She just kept staring at me. She had these fluid, grey eyes. But I turned up my nose at them, waiting for this bitch to just get off me.

Suddenly, people started crowding over some few feet away from us. Then before I knew it, several guests had started to bump at us, trying to get a look of what had happened. Luckily, the woman tripped over, and I took the chance to mix in with the crowd. I watched as the lady frantically tried to get up, but slipped at the ends of her own gown. Haha, bitch. That's what you get for wearing too much bedsheets.

I was carried by the crowd, away from that lady. When they have stopped walking, I found myself closer to the doors. Maybe fifty meters? Just really closer. I saw knights carry a lithe lady on a stretcher, and I recognized her right away. The sister of my family's treasurer, Lily Zwingli. I wonder what happened...she may have took a goblet of wine. I mean, she is just twelve...

The knights had disappeared, and the crowds had started to evaporate. Woah, that was quick for a young lady fainting. I glanced around the ballroom. I frowned.

Almost everyone was dancing with a partner. I guess up front were the women who were wondering where the fuck I am. And seeing all these...women dance with their respective men...

I couldn't believe the sadness well up inside my stomach. I stared at my empty hand. There was just something _missing._ I was strongly tempted to just take a goblet from the long table, but I suppressed it.

_Never show weakness, Arthur. There will be someone out there, just wait. Someone will come. There will be someone who will love you._

And amidst the crowds of dancing couples, in a blur of motion, I did not even seem to notice a twinkle of baby blue eyes, that seemed to stand out between the flashes of colors and limbs.

* * *

**-Third Person POV-**

Francis shook his head. That was just really nothing. But even still, his eyes trained back to that very place where the spark of green once flashed. Why is he so enthralled? It almost reminded him of that Kirkland...only this was, different.

He turned back, determined to just look for his friends and leave. Now, he would admit it was fun talking to the ladies, but those eyes haunted him. The way they just flickered at a fraction of a moment, seeming to tell Francis to run and chase after them...

Now, now, enough of that, Francis. You cannot get lost in here. Though, the exit was very near, he couldn't help but just...stay in this place. And look for the owner of those eyes.

Now that he noticed, almost everyone was dancing. So many couples glided away on the marble floor, and Francis couldn't help but feel quite... out of place. He could see that woman he just talked to, what was her name, Elizabetha, prance around the piano player at the corner of the ballroom. Even them looked really happy; the man was smiling whilst his fingers danced on the keyboard. And Francis wondered why he standing here still partner-less.

Well, nothing was going to happen if he just stayed there, right?

And seeing that he could not find his friends anywhere, he guessed he'll just have to drag this ball out until he could find them. Maybe explore this place a little?

He saw an exit somewhere near the front of the ballroom, but it didn't look like an exit. More like it lead to somewhere else. So he walked going there, careful not to hit against the dancing couples. After a few minutes, Francis was standing by the doorway.

Looking out, he guessed that it was some kind of entrance towards a garden. Well, maybe he could find those two plucking out flowers and making necklaces out of them. He glanced down, and saw perfectly trimmed grass glowing because of two lamps.

In a matter of seconds, he was walking against the dark, now moon-lit grass. Well, this place garden must be beautiful. It is a noble's garden. Maybe even better than the one he had at his palace...a few more steps, and he started seeing flower bushes decorate the pathway._ I must be near,_ he thought. Glancing in front of him, he saw glow emanate just a few meters away. That must be the main garden.

He trudged nearer, and a curtain moss started to appear at the sides, almost seeming to hide what was to come. He couldn't help but image pixies start to fly from nowhere. He took one final breath, and parted the hanging flowers.

What he saw made his jaw drop for the second time that night.

A small pond glimmered not far from the entrance, reflecting the beautiful glow of the moon. Surrounding it were lilies, slowly turning to roses as they neared ground. There was a tea table just opposite the pond, with four chairs surrounded with wood growing with decorative vines. Flowers were placed on an elevated platform, where Francis could see was a limestone sculpture of a man with the words "The First Kirkland" engraved at it's feet. The whole place stretched out not so big, but Francis felt as if he had just stepped into a wonderland.

Then there were..sounds. Listening closer, it was somewhat akin to crying.

Francis immediately found himself following the sound. He didn't know why, maybe it was a lost lady; the cries were high-pitched. And Francis was not one to leave a lady sobbing by herself.

He turned to the corners of the garden, and found new sights he has not seen upon entering. More flowers, flowers, roses, vines, more moss courtaining the place. The cries were becoming louder and clearer. He needed to find whoever was crying, dang it!

"M-mon cher? Where are you?"

Then he ended up in another garden, very much similar to the first one, but this one...seemed like it was less used. And older too. The chairs were rusted, the pond was overgrown with lilies, the flowers looked as if they have made a new specie, and the grass was way above his ankle. But even so, the beauty of the unused garden was making the surroundings seem more dreamy. There were butterflies and fireflies fluttering about, and it suddenly made the place look...enchanting.

One thing, there was no sculpture of a Kirkland in the elevated place. Instead, Francis saw a bottle of wine. Scratch that, _several_ bottles of wine. And a pair of booted feet.

Well, the lady is out of the picture. And to think he had just called him _mon cher,_ of all names...even though he considered himself somewhat of a bisexual...

The cries definitely were coming from whoever was in there.

Carefully, he slowly approached the hidden figure and peeked in the small, caved part of the elevated area. He did not expect what was before him.

There was a young man, heck, _very_ young man, who was holding this bottle of wine in his right hand, and hiding his face with the other. His sandy, blonde hair stuck to his forehead, and wine was dripping from his thin, pinkish lips. He wore a ruffled-up dress shirt stained with dark purple, he guessed again from what he was drinking. The Frenchman found no coat anywhere.

And just right beside the man, was an emerald brooch lined with silver.

_A Kirkland._

The Frenchman immediately recognized the brooch as it's sharp glimmer lashed at him. He glanced back at the young man, and his heart dropped to his stomach as a mixture of hate and fear washed over him. What was this Kirkland doing in an abandoned garden with this amount of liquor? Francis honestly did not feel like taunting the man, in fact he felt...pity. And that hate that was, and has always been there. With the rivalry their families have been going through, Francis has grown up being taught that they were enemies, that they should despise each other. But he never took it seriously, he was not aggressive at all. He did not want to contribute to hate.

The young man groaned, and took a quick swig of his wine. Francis knew that he should not snatch it away, he learned from Gilbert being drunk, which was just another Tuesday in his opinion. Never, _ever_ take the bottle from their hands, lest you want glass sticking out from your face. Instead, be calm. Be calm, and they will be calm.

"H-hey, stop drinking. It is not good for someone so young like you," he struggled with his words. And he has drank so much! What was this young man thinking?!

"S-stop telling me what to do..." the man then got on his feet, wobbling a bit, pushing Francis out of his way. He stepped forward, away from the Frenchman. He then took a long drink from his bottle until it emptied.

"Y-you know," he fumbled on his feet, but then pointed an unfocused finger towards the castle, "that place...sucks." He then gave a low chuckle.

Francis blinked at him. He did not know if he should just watch the Kirkland fall to the ground or catch him before he hits the stony patch near him.

"No one fucking cares about me in there, whoever the fuck you are. They're all just liars. Liars, liars, bloody _fucking_ liars!" He threw the wine bottle to the ground, making it smash to a thousand pieces of glass. Francis backed away before they could hit him. This Kirkland needs to calm the hell down!

"They all hate me in there. They just keep on screaming and shouting and_ fuck it_ you know _why?!_" He spun around, shoulders slumped at the Bonnefoy.

"Because I'm a_ fucking_ faggot! Can't you see?! They just had that bloody ball to get me engaged! I'm a faggot, and they tell me to zip my mouth and cover my ears and they think I can't hear them?! So _motherfucking_ wrong!" He lunged at the Frenchman, and Francis prepared himself for a blow, but Arthur just stood there in front of him, fists in mid-air.

"I hate them, I hate _all_ of them! And you know what's so bloody grand? They hate me too!" He gave a loud drunken laugh, and Francis immediately held Arthur's wrists to keep him from stumbling on the ground. His blue eyes looked worriedly unto the drunk man, who's face was still obscured by his hair.

"You are drunk, mon ami," he chose his words carefully, "sit down, before you hurt yourself—"

"SHUT UP! SHUT-SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

The man tore out of Francis' hold, and grabbed Francis by his collar, sending them down unto the grass. The two rolled to the ground, with the young man right above Francis. The sandy blonde went face-to-face with the Frenchman, pinkish irises glaring right at him with pure rage.

Francis could not believe what he had just seen.

His eyes were a shocking shade of emeralds.

"I DON'T CARE ANYMORE! I DON'T GIVE A DAMN HELL ABOUT WHAT YOU TELL ME! I DON'T NEED TO FOLLOW EACH WORD YOU SAY LIKE A FUCKING SLAVE!" The words were said with thick, hardened anger, his drunkeness slurring his voice...but there was something else coating them._ Sadness._

The Frenchman just stared bewildered into the crazed green orbs. _Was he...these eyes.._.

The man above Francis faltered in his grip, and he all but collapsed unto the Frenchman's chest, going entirely quiet.

"I...no one...cares..."

_Why does it sound so...real?_

"You...you all hate me..." he whispered shakily, before sobbing quietly, clinging unto Francis' coat tightly, as if not letting him go away.

Francis tried to sit up, but the man held him right at the ground, limbs wrapping tightly around Francis.

"D-don't leave...please don't leave..." he buried his face in Francis' neck, tears dampening the cloth.

Francis stared at the man's blonde head. Don't leave him? What did that mean? But...at this moment he just could not push the man away from him...

They hated each other, Francis knew about that. This man was drunk and could not think straight...but his eyes...

_He loved them._

He held the young man's head in his hands, as if shielding him from whatever people this...Kirkland was talking about. He started whispering soothing words in French in the man's ear, delighting at how it lessened the tremors going through his body.

"I will not leave, mon cher, I will never leave."

The Kirkland slowly glanced up at Francis, watery, green eyes glowing in the dark garden. Francis looked down at him, and smiled reassuringly.

"...stay like this...forever..."

_He is drunk, he is drunk, Francis! He does not know what he is talking about!_

"Forever."

He didn't know why he had done it, he didn't care. When all the hate had been pushed to the side, when normality fades, it didn't seem to matter anymore.

He pressed his lips unto the Kirkland's.

And the Kirkland kissed him back.

* * *

"Where is my son?!"

"W-we don't know, Lord! He- he was just here—"

"Look for him, search the whole palace, turn the whole kingdom upside down if you need to! I want my son back before midnight!"

"Y-yes, Lord Kikrland!"

Where was Arthur?! It has been three hours since the king had last saw him!

"Calm down, Henry, he will be back, we shall just wait-"

"No, no! He is probably out there, being assaulted by one of our male guests! I did not trust you to allow them in, Emaline! _Why?!_"

"He is not! I know he is not! Maybe he has found a woman-"

"Silence! This is all your fault! If you did not allow male guests-"

"You are always pushing him! Stop it, let him have his bloody freedom!" The lady lashed out, before promptly leaving the ballroom, away from the still dancing crowds.

* * *

"H-hey, you awake yet?"

He dragged a long groan, and stirred in Francis' lap. The Frenchman smiled sadly. It will end, this will end once he had come to his right mind.

Arthur's eyebrows scrunched up together. What was this he was lying on? Was this...fabric? And what was that voice—

He scurried off of the person's body, tripping slightly but managed to get off. He stared, bewildered, at the man he was lying at. What. The. _Bloody_. Hell. Did I really fall asleep on that man?!

"What-what the _fuck?!_ Who the fuck are you, what are you doing in my castle, _what did you do to me?!_"

Francis just stared at the man. Yes, it did end...too soon...

"Are you listening to me, you bloody wanker?! I am Arthur _fucking_ Kirkland, I command you to answer me!"

Ah, why don't I just play with this young man for a little?

"You want an answer, _mon cher?_ You have an answer already."

Mon cher.

Holy _shit._

_Oh hell no._

A. _Fucking._ Bonnefoy.

That look on his face! Francis smirked as Arthur's thick eyebrows disappeared into his spiky, blonde hair. It then turned to a light laugh.

**_"YOU FUCKING FROG!"  
_**

Arthur lunged at him, but Francis dodged his fist, letting out a shriek as it almost landed on his jaw. Woah, woah, this guy is fierce as fuck.

"_Arret, arret!_ Calm down, Kirkland, we can talk about this!"

"There is nothing!" punch to the air. "To_ fucking!_" kick to the air. **"TALK ABOUT!"  
**

Finally, Arthur's fist landed on Francis' gut, to which the Frenchman dry heaved. That was way too strong for a small man like him!

It was Arthur's turn to smirk down at the fallen Frenchman. He grabbed the man by his hair, and jutted it forward. Green eyes glowered mischievously at blue ones.

"Are you going to tell me, or not?"

Francis only smiled. "You would not like what you are about to hear, Kirkland."

Arthur let go, stepping back. "What do you mean?!" There was just _something_ with the way he said that!

"Ehem, wine bottles." Francis motioned to the small pile beside him.

All color drained from Arthur's furious face as his eyes landed to the bottles. "W-what do you fucking mean, Bonnefoy?!"

"I meant, you were dr-"

"NO I WAS NOT YOU ARE LYING!"

"_Donner le feu vert,_ believe what you want, you were. Now, help me up, please?"

The fuck?! "Never, tell me what did I do!"

At this, Francis could not help but look down. He just couldn't really believe those had happened...

Arthur sensed Francis' sudden turn of mood, and promptly went down from his high. What really...did happen? He could remember some things...they were just so blurry...

"You told me not to leave you."

Arthur looked back up at the Bonnefoy. He did..._what?!_

"You must be really sad, aren't you?"

_H-how did he know?!_

"You told me everyone ha-"

"SHUT UP! STOP TALKING, STOP IT!"

Arthur fell to the ground, hands flying to his face as tears started to run down his cheeks. It wasn't embarrassment, it was about that...

_"I...no one...cares..."_

_"You...you all hate me..."_

_"...stay like this...forever..."_

"Stop...please stop..."

He didn't know Francis was already there, right beside him, clutching his sides as his other arm wrapped itself around the Kirkland.

Arthur made no move to stop him, he just couldn't. He felt so warm under the Bonnefoy's touch, he felt so _welcome...No, this isn't happening..._

"It's alright, mon cher, it's alright..."

_Why? You're supposed to be laughing at me! We hate each other!_

"Sh-shut up..."

But even at his words, he could not stop himself from leaning into the Frenchman's warmth.

_Get off of there, Arthur! That man is a Bonnefoy!_

"I can't..."

_This isn't right! They will hate you even more! Punch him, scream at him, hit him where it hurts, he's just shit!_

He felt another arm wrap around him, and a chin lay on his head.

_I must be drunk, that's it, I am drunk! No, no...I don't know..._

"I...I don't know..."

Without even thinking, he wrapped his arms around Francis' neck, head resting on his chest._ So warm...so accepting..._

"Shh, mon cher...it's okay..."

He winced, feeling them strike something in him. _This was wrong._

"I...I'm supposed to hate you..."

_He's a Bonnefoy! Hate him, hate him!_

"Hate me all you want."

The words were whispered in his ear, the Frenchman's warm breath ghosting over his skin. His head screamed at him to get away from the man, to call the knights and order for his death, but he just couldn't. He found himself inching closer to the Bonnefoy-_ no, it felt so wrong to call him that..._

He felt like this man..._cared_ for him. _Just at this one little piece of time..._

"Look at me, Kirkland."

He hesitated, but soon, glossed over, green eyes stared up at soft, blue ones. The Frenchman's hand held Arthur's chin gently, and lifted it up.

"Tell me you hate me. Tell me how much you hate me and my family." _Tell me how much you despise me, tell me how much you want me bloodied over on the ground if it makes you happy!_

Arthur stared, unbelieving. Hate?_ I..I can't say it..._

"I...I—"

His words were left hanging as a pair of lips pressed unto his. Arthur froze in shock as the Frenchman started to slowly move his lips against his.

But somehow he felt like it didn't matter anymore.

He pushed his lips back unto Francis, not caring if this man was a Bonnefoy or not. It doesn't matter anymore, he didn't care anymore, nothing was keeping him from feeling the way he is. He started to kiss the Frenchman with shy slides of his own lips, uncertainty welling up inside him. Francis kissed back, hand tilting Arthur's head for deeper access. There was a burning desire starting to bubble up inside him, but he suppressed it. _Way too early,_ _way to wrong._

Arthur could feel heat surround his body. This man was so _passionate...he didn't want to leave, ever..._

The two parted for breath, and Arthur was left panting at the Frenchman's lap. His hooded, green eyes stared up at charming, blue ones as his parted mouth heaved little puffs of breath. No sooner, his lips were back at Francis', quick, little caresses of his lips brushing against the other. There was just something, he didn't know what, a slow fire dancing inside of him. Arthur held the man closer to him. He wanted to get closer, he wanted the warmth, he wanted the _love._

Francis gently parted their lips away, no matter how much he wanted to keep the young man closer to him. He pressed their foreheads together, hands slowly weaving through Arthur's dampened hair. Those eyes, such a beautiful shade of green, but they were painted with nothing but sadness. It stabbed at him, somehow, he wanted to fill those orbs with joy..._he could not bear to see them so sorrowful._

"Kirkland, let me heal your wounds," Francis breathed, his thumb gently brushing over Arthur's bottom lip. Arthur shivered at the touch. _What is this I am feeling? I don't know, oh god I don't know...I can't find the hate anywhere..._

The statement fueled the warmth even more, and Arthur couldn't deny it much longer. He knew he has fallen. He wanted to cling to this man, the heat he exuded, the promise of everything he had said. The words were at the tip of his tongue, he wanted to whisper them all over and over again.

_Three words...three words that were so **dangerous.**_

_But it just didn't seem to matter anymore._

"I love you."

_Please, don't push me away like how everyone else did, I don't want more rejection._

"Je t'aime, Arthur."

He did not need to think what those words had meant. Arthur flung his arms around Francis, going in a sudden burst of sobs. _So much happiness._ Francis, in turn, slowly wrapped his arms around the Kirkland. The words had been said.

_This is right. Everything is right._

"B-Bonnefoy-"

"Francis, mon cher."

"Francis, promise me."

"Anything, Arthur."

Arthur straightened up, and gazed critically at Francis' eyes, as if they would flinch away at the wrong words. Silently, he whispered,

_"Don't leave me alone."_

He was then torn right out of Francis' arms.

"GET THE BONNEFOY, GET HIM, GET HIM!"

"NO! DON'T HURT HIM, NO NO NO!"

Cries of pain echoed out from the garden as Arthur was wrestled away from Francis. _No, not when he was there with the man who loved him!_

"Francis, Francis, no, please! UNHAND HIM, UNHAND HIM! _NO,_ STOP!" He stretched out his hand, hoping to just have one last touch of Francis, but he was out of his reach. The knights started to drag Francis away, firmly suppressing the Frenchman's struggles. Tears violently cascaded down Arthur's cheeks as he helplessly watched Francis be taken away from him. He can't, he felt so_ cold_ without him... Time seemed to trickle away so excruciatingly slow at each of Arthur's cries for the knights to stop, but the Frenchman was getting farther and farther...

"Arthur, I love you! I love you, never forget! I love y—!" A punch was delivered right at his jaw. Arthur flinched as Francis' head whipped to the side.

"SHUT UP, YOU FRENCH SHIT!"

_"NO! STOP IT!"_

Apologetic eyes were all Francis could give Arthur, but his lips seemed to slowly move in light whispers.

_I love you._

That snapped the Kirkland. He wrenched right out of the knights holding him away, and ran towards Francis, unthinking if there were knights holding him away. He needed him, he _loved_ him!

"Francis, Francis don't leave me, please, please—!" His fingers grasped Francis' coat, and he pulled him towards himself, then crushed their lips together. The knights gripping Francis faltered, and froze at the sudden action. Arthur didn't care. He fell to his knees, bringing Francis' down with him. The two grasped at each other's heads, Francis fiercely kissing Arthur back. Just this one last kiss, just one more little moment, just one more show of _passion_—!

"ARTHUR!"

Arthur froze into the kiss.

He knew that voice.

_Father._

Firm steps of hard boots were the only sound in the garden. Before Arthur knew it, he was tugged right out of Francis' hands, thrown to the side, caught by two knights, who held his arms behind his back.

Lord Kirkland glared at the kneeling Frenchman, cold, unfeeling, piercing green eyes terminating into fearful, blue ones.

"Stay away from Arthur."

He then turned, away from Francis. Arthur stared, bewildered at his father's words. _Stay away?_

"No, no father! Please, no! Don't, _get away from him!_"

Knights gathered Francis from the ground, and wrestled him to his feet, bringing him out of the garden. Arthur felt all hope drain away from him. But he could still say it, he would still_ hear..._

_"I LOVE YOU, FRANCIS! I LOVE YOU!"_

There was no reply, as Francis was too far away to answer.

His father promptly walked towards him, and smacked Arthur right across his face.

"Arthur, what are you thinking?! He's a Bonnefoy, he _hates_ you! What the _bloody hell_ has gotten into your head?!"

Arthur leered at him. "No, he_ loved_ me! You _never_ loved me! You were the one who hated me!"

"Wrong, Arthur! Wrong! I am your father, of course I love you! That man is the one who hates you!"

_"**LIAR!**_"

"Arthur, I have found a woman for you. You are to be married in three days! You are not to meet with that Bonnefoy ever again!"

With that, the lord turned, walking away to the palace.

The knights marched right behind Lord Kirkland, Arthur dazed and unbelieving in their grip.

_You are not to meet with that Bonnefoy ever again._

* * *

"Francis? Francis! Wake up, wake up please!"

Francis' eyes fluttered open. He looked around, and saw the walls of his own chambers. Patting the surface, he felt the fabric of his own bedsheets. His head pounded painfully, and he winced. Slowly, he stood up, but fell right back down. Hands supported his fall. Hands? Who..?

"It's Gilbert and Antonio, we're here, don't worry!"

_W-what? I thought I was at the ball..._

_The ball._

"Arthur, Arthur?! Where is Arthur?! _WHERE IS HE?!_"

"Woah, woah, calm down! Who the hell is Arthur?!" Gilbert held his friend down, not wanting him to hurt himself.

Francis whipped his head left and right, but howled in pain as he twisted to the left.

"Your jaw is hurt, so is your left ankle. The knights threw you to the ground outside of the castle gates, we're lucky we found you! You could have been mugged," Antonio explained, worry evident on his face. They had seen Francis passed out on the ground, creases sanding out on his coat, then mounted him on his own horse, leading it to Francis' palace. His sprained ankle was bad enough, and they quickly brought him up to his chambers. Maids came and treated his injuries. His jaw was alright, but his ankle was critical.

"Relax, relax Francis. It isn't good. Just lay and rest. I'm sure Arthur is okay," the brunette hushed. Gilbert glanced at him, and he just looked dead-worried. Francis breathed heavily as he started to remember what had happened. He could not take it, he needed Arthur with him!

"Okay, Francis, tell us who's this Arthur guy?" Francis' dilated eyes flickered towards him. Gilbert flinched.

"I-I love him, I love him, he loves me back, I_ need_ him!"

Antonio and Gilbert looked at each other. No matter how crazed Francis sounded, it was nothing like that Kirkland. This one, it felt so real. But one thought nagged at Antonio.

"Who Arthur exactly?"

"Arthur-Arthur Kirkland..."

**_"Kirkland?!"_** The two chorused. Another?! Francis will just get hurt!

"No, no, Francis! You're a Bonnefoy!"

Francis glared at them. "It doesn't matter! I love him!"

They were taken aback by the passion Francis' voice held. It was so solid, so ardent.

And somewhere across the kingdom, a young man is whispering his declarations of love in hushed whispers.

* * *

**A/N: I'm crying, oh my god, I'm crying. Just, why did that have to happen?! Who wrote this shit it's so...augh!**

**I AM A HORRIBLE WRITER I KNOW. PLEASE FORGIVE ME. I HATE MYSELF.**

**I had "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift on replay while writing the garden part. And apparently shit has just gone down! Yiss! Finally was able to write this after just staring at the draft I had. I consider this the rising action...but oh well. I'm sorry for the OOC-ness. And the corny drama. It's bad. I know. *facedesk* Please be patient with me, my schedule is so strict and I don't have enough time to sit in front of the laptop and do this. But here you have it. I'm sorry again for not updating...my excuses are bad too I know XD _(ITALIC RAEP)_**

**The story might have seemed to end here, but it doesn't. We still have a lot of stuff to cover! Like...*pulls out Romeo and Juliet script book* A LOT OF THINGS! Stay tuned, please! I have the next chapter planned, and it contains some stuff. Yeah. I'll leave you guessing there. I'm seriously considering this story to be changed to an M rating, because I have a few...scenes written out. Anyway longest chapter yet, huh? Plot development is finally here! And sorry if I made you cry...and also if I didn't. I am horrible, please excuse me!**

Translation: _Donner le feu vert_- Go ahead

**Meet you guys in the next chapter!**  
**-Frau Haile :D**

Edit: I'm sorry guys, but I won't be active for the rest of the month. I need to put my full concentration on the last week of the bridging. I can't afford to have one more grade below 85...but this story does not end, I will finish it point A to Z! Just please be patient, I love you guys! :D  



End file.
